Chapter Eighteen
Rolf had trouble resisting Glory when she wore jeans and an oversized cardigan, hair poking every direction from a messy clip. With her eyes made up so they were the depthless blue-green of glacial melt against her snowy complexion, and her braless breasts moving erotically beneath her dress, and her pert ass accentuated by heels that made her legs look endless…
“I expected better of you, Rolf.”
“Hmm?” He dragged his gaze off Glory’s exposed spine and out of the filthy plans he had for that dress. He had sent her to join Vivien and Ilke on the patio while he veered toward the bar only to be confronted by Marvin’s bushy eyebrows scribbled into a knot over disapproving blue eyes.
“I had to hear through Vivien that you’ve taken up with Glory and, frankly, she’s still quite vulnerable.” Marvin set out a frosted mug with a dismayed clunk and flicked the cap off of one of Rolf’s preferred import beers, setting it beside the mug with a firm enough tap that foam started climbing out the top. “If I thought you were serious, it would be different. As it is…”
Since when was he anything but serious? Did he look like Trigg?
Marvin briskly polished a wineglass and set it on a tray. A bucket of ice held two bottles, both sweating and ready to be opened.
“Is that some of your wife’s wine?”
“Yes. Why?” He paused in setting another polished glass on the tray.
“Do you know it upsets Glory when you serve it to people who didn’t know her?”
Marvin frowned. “But what’s the sense in keeping it for… This isn’t the investment wine. That’s cellared in Seattle. This has already been shelved a few years and is ready to drink.” He picked up another glass, polished the hell out of it. “She told you that?” Marvin made a noise halfway between indecision and consternation. “She didn’t say anything like that to me.”
“Dad,” Glory said, coming through the empty lounge toward them with long strides that had her dress clinging and shifting across her naked skin. “We’re dying of thirst out here. Is that the Côte d’Or?”
Her expression only flickered a little, but Rolf watched for Marvin to catch it and he did. His mouth firmed.
“What are you doing, champion? You two have met. Quit dawdling and get out here to carry your share of the conversation.” She picked up the tray of glasses and Rolf brought the wine bucket. Marvin followed with two more mugs and a pair of longnecks.
Trigg already had a beer dangling from his fingers. He had his elbows slouched on the rail while Ilke stood next to him, gaze on the pond. Nate was down there with his son, throwing sticks into the water for Murphy.
“You got a three-year-old babysitting your dog now? You’re shameless,” Rolf drawled.
“I guess he’ll be sleeping in your room again, starting tomorrow.” Trigg pressed his bottle to his smug grin.
Rolf made a mental note to ask Nate if he wanted to earn some extra cash.
“Let’s have a toast,” Vivien said as all the wineglasses were filled. “Is everyone aware that Ilke deserves some congratulations? She just received a silver sponsorship, thanks to her performance last season. I was going to get after you to sponsor her, Rolf, but she won’t need it now. We’ll also wish both Trigg and Ilke safe training and success with their upcoming qualifiers. Marvin, you and Glory are to be commended on your wonderful new enterprise here. Of course, I’m proud of all of you, taking on this exciting new venture. And Rolf, you’re a darling for bringing us together with this wonderful meal you’ve arranged.”
Glory smirked at him as she sipped. He did what he’d been dying to do—splayed his hand on her bare back, feeling her shiver and watching her blush under his light touch.
“What is your timeline?” Ilke asked. “Will you open this season? People will be asking.”
“Did you talk to the police chief today? What did he say about the fire?” Trigg asked.
“Lack of evidence to arrest the brothers, but I’ve had a call from their employer.”
“Dirk Basco? Fuck that sounds like a failed country singer, doesn’t it?”
“Trigg!”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Him, yes,” Rolf said. “He fired them.”
“Oh, that’ll help.”
“Exactly what I said. Now they’ll have a grudge. He said with the downturn after the avalanche, all the good employees left the area. That’s how these clowns wound up on his payroll. With things picking up, he wanted to replace them anyway.”
“Good luck.”
“Me or him?” Rolf asked dryly.
“That Basco guy is quite the topic at Suzanne’s,” Glory said. “He’s buying up all the houses he can, then flipping them to out-of-towners who are speculating that once the hill is running, real estate here will go through the roof. Locals who finally have jobs and can think about buying are worried they’ll be priced out of the market before they have a down payment saved.”
“That explains why he’s firing the guys he thinks are responsible for slowing down construction,” Trigg said.
“Cutthroat,” Glory muttered.
“Business,” Rolf countered.
“You didn’t answer Ilke,” Vivien said. “Will you be open this season?”
Rolf exchanged a look with Trigg. On this point, they were in sync. “The board wants us to install a T-bar and open the bottom of the bowl this winter. As far as we’re concerned, that sets the wrong tone.”
“Branding is important,” Glory said.
“I know it is.”
“I said open the top for heli-skiing and let the cross-country folk come in this year, but wait to open after we put the gondola all the way to the top,” Trigg said.
“We can spend the summer putting in the tower footings to the top, or setting up the T-bar to midway, then spend half of next summer tearing that down before moving forward on the gondola. Financially, I don’t see the T-bar being a big enough draw to pull in more than enough to break even. I’ll know better after Nate and I go to Switzerland to talk to suppliers. Figure out if it will be a chair lift or gondola or combo.”
“Blue Spruce Lodge will be ready either way,” Marvin interjected with a magnanimous smile.
“Dad. Devon’s good. She’s not bionic. They have to get all the outdoor work done while the weather holds and we need staff quarters before we can open guest rooms so we have people here to serve our guests. Your room is the closest to finished,” Glory told Vivien. “I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s still cosmetic work to be done. We’re hoping for a functioning lobby and a soft-opening of some first-floor rooms by October.”
“I was going to ask about that. I suppose I’ll have to vacate occasionally while that’s attended to?”
“Oh, I thought—” Glory lifted a perplexed look to him.
“Viv,” Rolf said mildly, while a mushroom cloud exploded over his head. “Won’t you be heading back to Berlin soon?” That might have come out flatter and harder than he meant it to.
“What’s there for me? If you and Trigg live here now, so do I.”
Trigg drained his beer and reached for another. Ilke pretended to be fascinated by Nate and his kid.
Glory shifted subtly against the dig of Rolf’s tense fingers into her waist.
“Oh, don’t act like this is a surprise,” Vivien huffed. “I was born here. Well, across the state. Only lived there until I was two, then we moved to California, but that’s how your father found this place. He brought me back to Montana for a visit.”
“I guess we’ll make finishing your room a priority then,” Glory said blithely.
“That would be helpful.” Vivien nodded as if Glory was offering to get it done tonight. “But to your point about staff quarters. You have quite a conundrum, don’t you? You don’t want workmen traipsing their filthy boots across your new carpets. How do you plan to address that?”
“Viv was our father’s P.A.” Rolf explained. “It’s not a stretch to say she helped make Wikinger what it is today.”
“Charmer.” Vivien blew him a kiss. “But I do have a love for organization.”
“We’re still discussing options,” Glory said in a rookie move of trying to put her off.
“I spoke with the rep from the portable office that Trigg brought in,” Marvin said. “He quoted me, but those modular crew quarters are uninspiring. Also, they’re one level, so a lot of sprawl.”
Ugly as sin and branding again.
“Devon seems to think she could bring in a colleague who built a rustic style bunkhouse for a backcountry lodge in Wyoming. It sleeps twenty,” Marvin continued. “I’ve sent the plans to our architect and the building inspector.”
Glory stiffened. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“We seem to be lacking on the communication front lately. We should work on that.” Marvin slid his gaze from Glory to Rolf, then back to Glory.
Point to Marvin. Rolf gave Glory’s tense spine a caress with his thumb.
“So, what I’m hearing…” Vivien clattered her fingernails against her glass in exactly the way that put him and Trigg on alert. The beast was stirring. “Is a soft opening of the lodge when the first guest rooms are ready, some kind of activity on the slopes this winter—oh, if they’re planning to heli-ski, you’ll want in on that Ilke.” Vivien touched the woman’s arm. “Be sure she’s on the list, Rolf.”
Rolf bristled, but that was Vivien. Inclusive when she wasn’t being an impenitent snob.
“And a proper grand opening for both in a year or so,” Vivien summed up. “I imagine there will be some wrap parties and something to christen the crew quarters as well…”
Oh, fuck. Here we go. “Viv—”
“You don’t want to miss any opportunities. You know what you should do? Build a model of the proposed resort. It could sit in the lobby, so guests will know what they’re coming back for.”
Here we fucking go. He eyed Trigg. Rein her in, would you?
Trigg mouthed, Chile, and smiled his shit-eating grin. “You wanted to run with this, bro.”
“You know what you should do?” Glory wore a thoughtful expression. “A time-lapse of the construction on the hill. I thought about it for the lodge and took some ‘before’ photos, but it’s a stationary project and wouldn’t have the same impact. No one really cares about how the lighting in their room was upgraded, but watching the change of seasons and construction would make for interesting videos. That would draw interest in the hill, show the wilderness. People will start to see the conditions…”
Rolf lowered his beer. “We’ve already hung the hunting cameras and we’re recording what they pick up. Those are on motion detectors, but…”
“You know who would shit a brick—”
“Trigg.”
“Sorry, Mom. Quinn would drop a brick if I asked him to film this project as we bring it online.”
“Do it,” Rolf said without hesitation. “He films extreme sports,” he told Glory. “World-class events. Invite him to heli-ski this winter,” he said to Trigg, then hugged Glory. “Good idea.”
“Hey.” She pointed at her head. “This isn’t just for tiaras, you know.”
A hundred comebacks shot to the tip of his tongue, but all he really wanted to do was kiss her. So he did.
*
BLESSED WINTER – Chapter Six
Page 51, word count = 12,625
A funny noise like a tiny kitten or a little bird woke Pandora. She stretched and immediately became aware of aches and changes in her body. She was sore, but not too bad, and decidedly lighter. Able to breathe.
She turned her head to see Brock standing over the bed, a rolled blanket no bigger than a football clutched in the crook of his arm. He gave her a sheepish grin.
“I can’t put him down.”
“He cries when you try?”
“No, I don’t want to.” He hitched his hip next to hers on the bed so she could see her son. “He’s so insanely small. And looks like you. But I think he’s hungry. Or misses you or something.”
She sat up, and Brock helped her put pillows behind her back.
“Can I make you a tea?”
“I would love one, thank you. And maybe a couple of cookies?”
“I can do better than that. I was getting hungry for lunch. How about I warm some soup? Or, did I see a chicken in the fridge?”
“I was going to roast it for my Christmas dinner, but that will take too long. Soup is fine.”
While she nursed her son, Brock puttered around her kitchen, making homey noises. When he came back in, she was doing exactly what he had been doing. Staring at her son’s tiny lashes, his button nose, his cupid’s bow of a mouth.
Brock grinned at her. “See?”
“Will you hold him so I can get dressed?”
“Of course. Do you need help?”
“I was actually thinking of having a quick shower. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
She really didn’t know what she would have done, would be doing now, if he hadn’t been here. She started to tear up, sitting there in her rumpled bed.
“If you weren’t here, I would be in the hospital right now.”
“Maybe,” he interjected dryly.
“I just mean, I wouldn’t be in my own home. I wouldn’t have someone to hold him, someone I trust.” It hit her that he would leave at some point and she wouldn’t even have this. The vastness of being alone with a baby began to hit her.
She hurried into the shower to hide that she was going to cry again.
~ * ~
Brock was still reeling. To say he was glad that he had been here was inaccurate. This experience was beyond anything he had ever imagined for himself. For Pandora’s sake, of course he was glad that he was here. For his own sake, he felt as though he had been run down by a semi-trailer. This was not the sort of experience one could walk away from unchanged. He was invested now.
When Pandora reappeared, damp hair combed back from her face, wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a flannel button top, she was grinning ear-to-ear.
“These aren’t maternity clothes. They’re my old clothes.” She was so proud, he had to chuckle.
She took her son again, and nuzzled her nose into his neck, breathing deeply and signing with contentment.
“I’ve been calling him ‘Champ.’”
Before she had fallen asleep, she had said that the names she had picked out no longer seemed right. Now she gave him a shy look and asked, “What do you think of Nicholas?”
“I love it,” he said with a grin. “That’s who I’m named after. My great-grandfather, Nicholas Brockmeier.”
“No way.”
“True fact.”
“I was thinking of Brock as a middle name.”
“Yeah?” He was touched, really touched, but at the same time couldn’t help thinking the kid wouldn’t have his last name. Why did that bother him?
They sat at the table to eat, then Pandora moved to the sofa with her tea while he tidied up.
“Are you ready to finish Christmas yet?” Brock made sure to put some exasperation in his tone, like she had really inconvenienced him with her having a baby and all, which made her giggle.
“I know, right? How dare I interrupt what’s really important. We’ll blame Nick.”
“Nick. Yeah,” Brock said with a nod. “Good solid name. I like it.”
Pandora smiled and started to ask him to pass her the prepackaged baby care parcel, but realized, “Oh. You opened it.”
“You were asleep and the beanie seemed like a good idea.”
“My boss’s wife gave it to me.” She fingered through the face cloths, bathing towel, squeaky yellow duck, and organic baby potions, looking wistful.
“I feel bad now.”
“Don’t! It’s totally okay. It’s for Nick anyway.”
Brock handed her his last gift from his mother. “You open this one for me.”
“Don’t be silly.”
He stole the baby. “My hands are full. You do it.”
She smiled and carefully unstuck the ends on the fancy paper his mom had used, then opened the box, showing him the San Diego Padres’ sweater. Brock had to bite back to curse when he saw it was signed by the shortstop.
“You’re excited,” she said with a happy grin. “Is it hockey or football?”
“Please tell me you’re joking. It’s baseball. And now I have to keep custody of your son to ensure he receives an appropriate education. You are clearly not qualified.”
“Enjoy the breast-feeding.”
He chuckled as he secured Nick against his shoulder and reached for the last gift under the tree.
Pandora simply held it in her lap, fingers tracing the uneven folds at the ends of the box. Fresh tears came into her eyes. “You know this is the best day of my life, right?”
“Mine too.”
A shadow passed behind Pandora’s eyes and her soft smile wavered.
Did she think he was being polite? This tiny weight on his arm had completely changed him. He suspected none of them fully grasped how profoundly they were bound together now.
As Pandora ran her finger beneath the tape on the first end of her present, his phone burbled with an incoming face call.
“That’s my family.” With the time difference in Hawaii, they were just waking up and starting their Christmas morning.
He and Pandora stared at each other for another two rings. Brock leaned to pick up his phone, watching for Pandora to stop him. She didn’t, but she looked scared. Why?
He swiped to answer and saw the face of his three-month-old nephew.
Ha. Turns out he could play that game. He angled his phone to show Nick’s face.
“Brock? Terry, who did you call?” His sister-in-law, Amber, sounded confused.
Brock winked at Pandora.
Amber appeared with Terry ducking in behind her. “Maybe try again. Who is this?”
“Merry Christmas.” Brock showed his own face while Pandora scooped Nick from his arms.
“Bro. Where are you?” Behind Terry, his mother ducked into the frame.
“Good morning. Merry Christmas. We’re missing you.”
His father’s hand came into the frame, handing a glass of whiskey to Terry. “Time for our toast,” his father said. “Did you start without us?”
“No, I can’t this year. You’ll never believe what I did this morning.”
“Where are you?” That was Amber again. “Whose baby was that?”
“So nosy. I’m in Tahoe.”
“With Chelsea and Gavin? That’s not Shannon.”
“That’s your brother at the house,” Brock remembered now. He’d met Amber’s brother and his wife at Terry and Amber’s wedding, but hadn’t seen them since. “I totally forgot Mom and Dad gave them the keys.”
“Why are you in Tahoe?” his mother asked.
“I felt like getting out of L.A. I was going to wait at the house for you. Celebrate New Year’s Eve with you guys.”
“But you’re not at the house now,” Terry said.
Brock looked at Pandora again. She was rubbing her lips against Nick’s soft cheek. There was something tender yet very defensive in her lowered lashes. As if she was both taking comfort from cuddling her son, and reinforcing that they were a unit. In a weird little time slip, Brock felt shut out and quickly reacted to repair the fissure.
“I’m with a friend. Pandora. She works at the tavern.”
“Oh yes,” his mother said with excitement. “She’s lovely. She was expecting. When did she have her baby?”
“This morning. Here in her apartment. I caught him.”
The excitement on the other side of the screen was loud and jumbled. His father’s booming voice came through at the end in a command to: “Have a drink son. You deserve one.”
“Wait.” That was Amber. “Why were you there? Is that…”
Silence.
Brock looked to Pandora but she wasn’t meeting his eyes. He realized she had anticipated this question even if he hadn’t.
And in this moment, he desperately wished her son was his.
“We’re friends. The whole town was booked,” Brock said. “I was on the couch when she woke up in labor.”
His mother wanted to see the baby again, and wished Pandora Merry Christmas along with congratulating her. They ended the call by cementing plans to spend New Year’s Eve together.
Brock signed off. Only the faint bars of ‘Silent Night’ playing from the TV filled the silence.
Pandora was the first to speak, lips still against Nick’s little cheek.
“I wish he was yours.”
He is. The words were right there, locked behind his breastbone and putting pressure in his throat. It seemed like an overstep, though.
“Do you want me to take him? So you can open that last present?”
“No, I just want to hold him for a few minutes. And look at the tree.”